


Body or Mind

by jaskiersvalley (connorssock)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Body Swap, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22928200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorssock/pseuds/jaskiersvalley
Summary: Magic was a frustrating thing. Especially when it meant Geralt ended up in a bard's body while Jaskier ran around having to pretend to be a witcher. It was all fun and games until a contract had to be fulfilled and Jaskier needed to take a potion.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 407





	Body or Mind

While Geralt didn’t know what he had done to piss Stregobor off this time (hint: he didn’t do anything, but Jaskier did), he was still very unimpressed with the cloud of green magic that billowed his way. Resigned to his fate, Geralt closed his eyes and let the magic swallow him up.

Opening his eyes, things looked rather different. A little more muted, everything was softer. And he was not in the stable with Roach. How off putting and annoying. Geralt looked around. He was in the room at the inn they were staying at. And Jaskier’s lute was in his hands. A closer look and Geralt frowned. Those were not his hands. Fuck.

Meanwhile, in the stables, Roach was watching passively as Geralt blinked his eyes open and promptly flipped out. It involved a lot of hopping about, staring at hands and legs, feeling his own face while cursing loudly and colourfully. Never before had a witcher been so animated.

They met in the street outside of the tavern, Geralt stomping to fetch Jaskier while Jaskier was running to get Geralt. People stared when a terribly grumpy looking bard dragged a whining witcher back into the inn.

What followed was something that an outsider would have found quite hilarious. An argument between a verbose witcher and a broodingly humming bard. The conclusion was that there was nothing they could do for now. There was still a contract that they needed to fulfil.

Hunting the creature is an exercise in frustration. Geralt, in Jaskier’s body, struggled to keep up and keep track. He was so used to seeing the taint that monsters left behind but human eyes couldn’t detect that. And no matter how much he tried to explain it to Jaskier, it took years of training to spot them. Frankly, Jaskier was a hopeless witcher. Which was a testament to how much of the training at Kaer Morhen was not just of the body but also the mind. One without the other did not make for a witcher.

Of course, it was just Jaskier’s luck that they find some drowners. While Geralt tried to grab a sword and charge into the fray, Jaskier was busy running and screaming for Geralt at the top of his lungs. It really was just as well they didn’t have an audience because they would have seen the witcher running in a wild panic while the bard rushed in.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t a simple matter of comedic appearances. While the drowners were eventually dealt with, Geralt could barely walk afterwards, he was so tired. His muscles hurt, the sword in his hands was heavy and all he wanted was to sit and meditate for a bit. By contrast, Jaskier was trying to hum as they made their way back to the tavern.

“Shut up,” Geralt growled and Jaskier gave him a hurt look. Which was all manner of disconcerting, seeing the bard’s expression on his own face. “If we’re to pull this job off, you need to at least act like me.”

Unfortunately, Jaskier was hungry and he whined and pestered until Geralt gave in. They sat in the tavern, trying to hide in a corner but the patrons knew they were there. And the requests for Jaskier to entertain and play were coming in thick and fast. The lute felt foreign in Geralt’s hands. He had no idea what he was doing with hit. To him, the only use a lute had was to be smashed over someone’s head in a fight.

“I’m sick,” he said in the end. And tried to give a cough to sell his story. It wasn’t far from the truth, Geralt could barely stay awake long enough to eat dinner. All he wanted was the comfort of a bed.

“What the magnificent bard means,” Jaskier said next to him, gesturing grandly at Geralt, “is that he is tired. If you push him too hard, you will lose out on his voice not just for a night but rather for his entire stay. Give him a break he so deserves.”

A few people grumbled but nobody argued with a witcher. Even if he seemed to be in a frighteningly good mood.

Going upstairs, Geralt stripped and fussed at how the clothes were fancy but deeply impractical. It seemed that Jaskier was having similar issues, not enjoying the battle against the buckles and straps of Geralt’s outfit. Undressing really was much easier when the unfamiliar straps were on someone else.

They still had a kikimora to hunt for the contract. Geralt woke up tired. He wondered why that could be, he had one of the most restful nights in a long time. There were no sounds waking him, no dreams, nothing. And yet he still felt exhausted enough that he went to put on his regular clothes before seeing himself in the bed. The public could never see Jaskier in witcher armour while Geralt was dressed like some extravagant bard.

Picking out the most drab outfit (as if Jaskier had drab clothes), Geralt went down to get some breakfast. He was surprised that he entered the room and the chatter continued. Usually, his presence was enough to bring any room or gathering to a nervous stillness. Even more strangely, the barkeep’s wife smiled at him with a wink and even piled his plates a little higher than a regular portion.

“Running around with that witcher, you need to keep your energy up, duck,” she whispered with a giggle.

Returning to the room, he nudged Jaskier awake who gave him his usual glare. And okay, maybe people were right to get scared when he glared or stared at someone too hard.

They managed to obtain more information on the kikimora. It was a matter of finding it and killing it now and there was no way to delay it. Geralt followed Jaskier out of the village, they made a passable attempt at acting like each other.

As soon as they were out of the village’s view, their demeanour changed. Jaskier perked up while Geralt fell silent. Forcing a cheer and a bounce to his step was tiring. He had no idea how Jaskier did it all the time.

A kikimora was no easy foe. Usually Geralt downed a potion to help him. Maybe two, depending on how he was feeling.

“I really have no idea how you do this,” Jaskier was prattling away. “There’s just so much going on in the world! So many colours. The smallest movement. It feels like everything is super sharp, vibrant colours, I can almost taste sounds and hear everything within miles. Including your, well, technically my, heartbeat. It’s so distracting and noisy. How do you cope?”

“You learn,” Geralt huffed back. Despite his constant fatigue, he was quite enjoying the muted life. Some things he missed about being in his usual body but some of it was a blessing.

The kikimora got the jump on them. It reared out of a body of water without any warning. Geralt hadn’t sensed it at all and Jaskier probably had no idea how to interpret what was going on around them. It was pure chaos for a few seconds with Geralt pushing screaming muscles and reaching for swords that weren’t there.

“Take some-” he realised that Jaskier won’t have a clue as to what was in each vial. “Blue bottle, purple top! Down it!”

While Jaskier fumbled in the bag, Geralt was trying to keep the kikimora occupied when he heard heaving and gagging. Jaskier was doubled over, potion bottle empty, eyes turning black as his skin paled even further. It seemed that the taste of the potion didn’t agree with him and Geralt couldn’t really blame him.

Once the potion took full effect, Jaskier looked dazed. He staggered a little, blinking as his eyes took in the sight. The problem was, Geralt was tiring very quickly. He couldn’t keep dodging.

“Jaskier. Please!”

He could see the swords being hefted up and Jaskier stumbled towards the kikimora. If there was such a thing as muscle memory, Geralt desperately hoped it kicked in about now or they would both be dead.

Sensing a more dangerous foe, the kikimora turned to Jaskier with a hiss.

“Raise your left sword!” Geralt shouted and watched as Jaskier followed his instructions, just in time to block a strike. “Thrust up with the right, cut a leg off.”

He kept yelling, telling Jaskier what to do, how to fight. It was inefficient and Geralt wished he could just charge into the fray and be done with the matter. But his legs burned, breath came in burning gasps from all the running. At least his voice carried clear and true over the sounds of the battle.

At long last, Jaskier delivered a killing blow. The kikimora screeched and collapsed but Jaskier was on full alert now, spinning to find the next source of danger. It was a feeling Geralt was all too familiar with, the potion still in full force but with nowhere to channel its effects. It was quite hellish.

“Well done,” he said as he approached Jaskier who looked only a little out of breath, covered in kikimora guts.

“Geralt?” All of a sudden, Jaskier dropped the swords and his hands flew to his face as he dropped to his knees. “What’s going on?”

Despite his insistence at not feeling anything, Geralt’s heart broke as Jaskier tried to make sense of what his body was telling him. “It’s just the potions. They’re good for a fight but not so much when there’s nothing left to spend their effects on.”

On the ground, Jaskier was curling up, a ball of misery and pain. It was something Geralt was all too familiar with, the burning through his veins like a thousand fire ants marching in unspent rage. It was coupled with a feeling of need, that something had to be done but the ‘what’ of it was beyond comprehension. On top of it all was the terrible stomach ache as the toxic potion caused cramps and the desire to heave it all up even if there was nothing to throw up. Then there was the pounding headache, in time with the heartbeat which was elevated by the potion and the body trying to fight it off. A thundering pulse that threatened to cleave the head in two from the inside.

“Oh fuck,” Jaskier all but sobbed. Tears were leaking from all black eyes and Geralt was surprised that his body could still cry. He hadn’t done so since he started his training at Kaer Morhen. “Geralt, how do I make it stop? Please make it stop.”

The pleading whispers hurt on a soul deep level. Usually, Geralt would meditate, allow his find a bit of freedom from his body while the potion ravaged it. But it was yet another tool that was training for the mind and not the body. Helpless, Geralt sat down and pulled Jaskier’s head into his lap.

“Meditation helps. Close your eyes.”

He watched as Jaskier trembled, could feel him shaking and breath hitching. Now that he had a taste for what the potion could do, it was impossible to ignore its call to fight. And without there being something to rage against, all that turned inwards, the body fighting and torturing itself.

As much as Geralt tried to help Jaskier meditate, it was hopeless. Meditation took a lot of time and practice. To try it while in pain and in a foreign body, it was never really going to happen. Helpless, Geralt did the only thing he could think of that he would like when feeling like that. Slowly, he pulled a hand through Jaskier’s hair, brushed the guts and gunk out gently as he tried to offer a small measure of comfort. Keeping his strokes soft, Geralt kept a hand on Jaskier’s stomach, hoping the heat of his palm would ease the cramps a little.

Touch, strokes, there was one more thing missing. Quietly, with an uncertain quiver to his voice, Geralt began to sing. Nothing as fancy or fun as what Jaskier normally came out with. Rather, he offered up a lullaby of sorts, gentle and soothing to the best of his abilities.

Gradually, Jaskier’s shivering and sniffles stopped but his eyes remained shut. He wasn’t asleep, Geralt could tell as much but he seemed to be between the world of the waking and the sleeping. It was as good as meditation in a way and Geralt relaxed. His song petered out and his own eyes closed. Painfully tired, Geralt cursed the body he was in, wished he could take Jaskier’s pain away. Those were his last thoughts before he fell asleep.

Waking up, the world was as sharp as before and Geralt groaned, turning to look up. Jaskier was slumped above him, sleeping while sitting up, as Geralt had been who knew how long ago. The body of the kikimora was off to one side. He would deal with it later. For now, he had a bard to look after, to ensure he was well rested and be in full knowledge of how much he was appreciated. Everything else could wait.

Sitting up, Geralt ran a filthy hand over Jaskier’s cheek and smiled when familiar blue eyes blearily opened to look at him.

“You’re you again,” Jaskier mumbled and smiled. “Oh thank fuck. How you feeling?”

The familiar aches and pains were almost welcome. Geralt was so used to them by now, he almost didn’t notice what he had called the potion hangover.

“Much better now that you’re not in pain,” he said. It was all too easy to tug Jaskier in for a soft, grateful kiss. “Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find this and many more on @jaskiersvalley on tumblr.


End file.
